Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson
by xXThe.Black.Parade.Is.DeadXx
Summary: Collab with the awesome Luminesyra! AU, inspired by this awesome book called "Will Grayson, Will Grayson." Dick Grayson, a sixteen-year-old adopted rich kid who came from the circus, meets Dick Grayson, a sixteen-year-old adopted street kid from Gotham North who works a crummy job at a store and has a single mother who works as a thief.
1. Strays

**A/N: This is one of the three collabs I am currently doing because I'm bored. I will be writing the odd numbered chapters, and the awesome ****Luminesyra **will be writing the even chapters.

**This is an AU inspired by the book "Will Grayson, Will Grayson," which is a collab itself. Selina's still Catwoman, but she doesn't call herself that.**

* * *

**Chapter 1- Strays**

I've had a pretty rough life. My parents died when I was three, grandparents were dead long before that, and would you believe that my aunt and cousin died along with my parents while my uncle was paralyzed? And so, because of this, I was shipped off to an orphanage. Now, that's all I've known for twelve years, that and foster care. I had been with eight other foster families, and they always chose to get me transferred for some reason or another. For the first three, I was a bit too negative, always saying that people don't adopt the older kids. I'm telling you, though, it's true. They _**never**_ adopt anyone that is starting to go through puberty. For the next two, it was a matter of money, saying that they didn't have enough for all of us (but to be fair, there were, like, ten kids to take care of). The remaining three, well, I don't know the reason, but I'm sure it was good enough to get me back in the orphanage.

About six months ago, I was adopted. Yes, _**adopted**_. I was fifteen at the time, and I've always said that people never adopt a kid that's already hit puberty. So, using this logic, I have either not hit puberty (thanks a lot, universe) or I just look really small for my age. For whatever reason, though, I was going home. Well, that's how she put it.

As we walked out of the orphanage, the lady asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Dick Grayson."

"Well, Dick, my name is Selina Kyle. You can call me Selina or mom or whatever, okay?"

Selina was nice, but she did a lot of running around. I didn't really know what she did with her time, but at the time, I didn't care. Really, I was just happy I didn't have to worry about being taken to yet another foster home. She didn't ignore me, either. I had always made the assumption that she worked a lot.

Well, that assumption was wrong. You know what they say about assumptions… "It makes an ass of you and me."

About a month after I was adopted, I was running around the apartment, searching for this stuffed robin. From what the ladies at the orphanage said, I've had that little robin since I arrived. Now, it's missing and eye and it's spilling stuffing out of its right wing, but it was always special to me.

Anyway, I always made sure it was on the shelf in my room, and it wasn't there. So, I obviously freaked out. Selina wasn't home, so I couldn't ask her about it. I was in the room across from hers when I heard a noise coming from her room. Normally, I would've dismissed it as Isis, her cat, but Isis was sitting on the table next to me, staring at me. And so, I grabbed the baseball bat that just so happened to be sitting there and headed across the hallway. I opened the door, ready to swing at the creep who snuck in and-

-And it was Selina, dressed in a leather cat suit, with a bag of jewels on her bed.

Selina later explained to me that this was how she made a living. She told me that she wouldn't send me back to the orphanage, as she "didn't want me to be in her position."

I didn't ask for her to explain what that meant.

And so, five months later, that's why I'm keeping a look out for any offers for potential buyers of priceless jewels and things while Selina chooses the jobs that pay the highest.

* * *

In addition to helping a thief find work, I work at the music shop across the street. Typically, there are only two of us working at a time, and the manager is usually out back getting stoned. The store is almost never busy, since everyone downloads music online, so when Harper and Cullen Row drop by every day, I'm free to talk to them about anything.

Harper and Cullen are the only friends I have a Gotham North. They're the only people that know about Selina's "job" and how I help her out. Harper's a technological genius, so she helps prevent the police from tracking us through technological means.

Today, like any other day, Harper and Cullen walked in, ignoring the half-hearted "Welcome to Gotham Music" that the only other employee, Rachel Roth, gave as they walked past the checkout desk.

Harper waved at me and called out, "Grayson!"

"Good to see you, too, thing one and thing two," I said, "Can I help you find something?" If I didn't say something along the lines of those six words, the manager, Kevin, no matter how stoned he was, would have Harper and Cullen kicked out for loitering.

"Actually, you have anything by Artic Monkeys? I've been addicted for a while, but with Harper messing with the electricity in our house all the time, I can't download any of their music, legal or otherwise, without the power going out."

Harper smacked her brother in the back of the head playfully, "Hey, it ain't my fault Gotham's grid is so old and rusty! If I didn't, as you put it, 'mess with the electricity,' we wouldn't even have any power."

"She's right, man," I said, walking over to where we kept the Artic Monkeys CDs, "The electricity in Gotham's north side sucks. By the way, Harper, Selina wanted me to tell you that she appreciates you installing that backup generator in our apartment. She told me she'd have your money soon."

"Tell her it's fine, she doesn't need to pay us. She paid for the supplies, anyway, so technically, she already paid."

"By the way," Cullen said, browsing through the Artic Monkeys disks, "How's the other job going?"

"Pretty good," I said, knowing exactly what he meant, "Our client is willing to pay six million for our service, and another one is willing to fork over twice that."

"Cool. Maybe you could get outta here while you can." Harper picked up one of the Blink-182 CDs and looked at the back of it.

"I don't want to leave you guys. You're my only friends… if you don't count Isis or that stray that sits on the windowsill of my room."

"Bullshit, man. I mean, it's not like we can't visit you if you move," Cullen said, "Selina's probably not gonna leave Gotham, and you'll make friends."

"Yeah, I guess. But I'm happy at Gotham North… even if I'm stuffed into lockers for being a so-called 'band fag,'" I said.

"Don't forget choir queer," Harper remarked.

"Gee, thanks."

"What are friends for, dude?" Cullen asked. I just rolled my eyes and waved as they went to checkout with every Arctic Monkeys CD they could find.

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**A/N: I don't know _why_ I chose for Cullen to be obsessed with Arctic Monkeys. Maybe it's because I'm going through an Arctic Monkeys phase. (ENGLISH ROCK GROUPS ARE SO ADDICTIVE!)**


	2. Keys

**A/N: This chapter was written by ****Luminesyra.**

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**Chapter 2- Keys**

I don't know if I would call my life "rough", but it hasn't been any picnic, either. I lost my mom when I was four and my dad never came around, so no one knew where he was. My grandmother is dead so I lived with my grandfather for a little while, but he became a drunk after mom died. After that, I never stayed anywhere for long. Most of the foster families I went to sent me away, because I never did anything except stare at nothing. Finally, when I was seven, I was diagnosed with chronic depression. Even with medication, I still never made any friends. My life was pretty lonely.

When I was ten, I almost didn't believe them when they said someone wanted to adopt me. No one wanted me around, even for a little while, and someone wanted to be stuck with me for the rest of their _life?_ No way.

But they did.

"Dick, this is your new foster father, Bruce Wayne."

Wait, did she just say _Bruce Wayne?_

Oh boy.

* * *

I groaned and glared at the alarm clock beside my bed, slamming my hand against the top of it to silence the shrill ring. I slid out of bed and groggily made my way to my bathroom.

Gasping as the cold water splashed against my face, I shut the water off and dried off my face, now wide awake. After slipping into some jeans and the first t-shirt my hands touched, I made my way downstairs.

"Morning, Bruce." I sat down at the long mahogany table, a few chairs away from where Bruce had his nose in the morning's newspaper.

"Morning, Dick." the paper shuffled as he turned the page. Our butler, Alfred, walked in with breakfast.

"Good morning, sirs."He set down a plate of Eggs Benedict in front of Bruce and toast with peanut butter in front of me. He also handed me a glass of orange juice and a small paper cup with my medication in it.

"Thanks, Alfred." I swallowed the pills down with a healthy gulp of orange juice.

Bruce set down his empty coffee cup and folded up the newspaper. "Well, I have to run. See you tonight, kiddo."

Bruce was great, he really was, but he was almost never home during the day, which is fine when I have school, but it's the weekend. It was probably going to be a long day.

When I got back up to my room, I plugged my iPod into the stereo and flicked through the settings. Finally settling on _Burn_ by Papa Roach, I turned up the volume and sat down at my desk. My laptop speakers were in pieces on its surface, where I had taken them apart. I was re-wiring the circuits so they would play louder. I spent about an hour messing with them until I shocked myself when I accidently brushed the battery with a wire.

Frustrated, I pushed the speakers to the side, shut off the stereo, and began to wander around. I liked to explore the huge mansion, because, even though I've lived here for almost five years, there's always interesting things to find.

Eventually, I made it to Bruce's study. I've been inside there before, but never for very long and only when Bruce was in there. He never said I wasn't allowed to go in there, but I always got the impression there was something in there he didn't want me to see. He always kept the door closed and wouldn't usually ask to go in there for any reason.

Up until now, I had let it be, but now I was curious.

Pushing open the heavy oak doors, I was met with a spotless office. I walked inside, looking for anything that looked, I don't know, _different_. Most of the cool things or places I found looked like regular, everyday objects, like, a few weeks ago I found a door to an underground storm shelter that looked like regular old wood paneling on the wall.

Poking around the office a bit, I ended up rather disappointed. Nothing. I sat down in one of the plush leather chairs that sat by the stone fireplace. I was just about to leave, when I noticed something odd about one of the mantelpieces. The shadow from where the figure connected to the base was a lot thicker that its twin on the opposite side of the mantle.

I slid my nail into the crack and tugged on it a little bit. Nothing. I pulled harder. It still didn't budge. I picked it up, and, it still didn't open, but there was a low grinding noise. I looked at the base and saw it had shifted to the side a little. Instead of pulling on it, I tried twisting the base and the figure. After a few turns, the base separated and a silver colored key fell onto the plush carpet.

I put the statue back together and set it back on the mantle before picking up the key. It looked like an ordinary key, but it had the Wayne Tech logo engraved on it for some reason. That was odd, because, as far as I know, Wayne Tech doesn't make anything that uses keys, it's all electronic. But it went to something, because there were scratches along its teeth from being slid in and out of a lock.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed.

Crap. Bruce would be home any minute, and I'm lucky Alfred hasn't caught me already. I put back everything I had moved or shuffled from poking around and slipped out of the study.

* * *

Flicking on my desk lamp, I set the key down and pulled over my magnifying stand. I bent the arm down until it was a couple of inches away from the key. I turned it around, looking for something that marked it as significant. Bruce wouldn't have gone through this much trouble to hide it if it wasn't important.

I was about ready to give up, until I noticed that one of the scratches had gone a bit deeper that the others. I turned up the magnifier and saw it was some kind of reflective black metal. I poked at it with a pair of small tweezers, realizing it was magnetic when the tweezers stuck to the scratch.

I was about to pull out a blacklight when I heard footsteps down the hall. I shoved the key into my pocket and quickly pulled my disassembled speakers back in front of me when the door opened.

Bruce poked his head inside with a friendly smile. "Hey, Dick. I was just seeing how you were doing."

"I'm great. Just re-wiring my speakers. They weren't loud enough." Adrenaline faded as Bruce gave me a rueful chuckle before closing the door.

I pulled the mysterious key from my pocket.

It went in some kind of magnetic lock, so you couldn't just cut another one because it wouldn't have the magnetite inside. Whatever it opened was important enough to Bruce that he felt the need to hide the key as carefully as he did.

The big question now, what did it open?


End file.
